


Radical Stimulus

by scarletjedi



Series: Qui-Gon lives [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 15:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11293641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: In the bowels of Theed Palace, fighting for his life against a nightmare come to life, Obi-Wan Kenobi has a vision.Everything changes.





	Radical Stimulus

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to Hobbitystmarymorstan for helping me through this :)
> 
> for QuiObi Week 2017, Day 1: Qui-Gon Lives Fallout

* * *

6.

Mace was met at the entrance to Theed’s palace medcenter, a rather upscale facility that was dreadfully overtaxed, used to, as it was, the needs of the palace, not the needs of a battleground. He nodded at the healer who had been sent, still dressed in stained medical scrubs and wearing the steel-eyed driven look of all medical personnel in a crisis, as the Healer sketched a short bow that was still form perfect, despite his fatigue. Mace was impressed; the Naboo’s cultural emphasis on protocol ran very deep. 

“Master Jedi, Welcome,” the healer said. HIs voice was rough, but Mace was unsure if it was due to fatigue or simply the nature of the healer’s voice. “I am Jubei Lago.” He gestured back down the hallway he had just came. “If you would follow me.”

“Thank you, Healer Lago, for taking this time. I understand things have been very busy.” Mace had to step quickly to keep pace with the healer, but did so with relative ease and pushed back the thought that it felt good to stretch his legs after his time aboard the transport ship, feeling it crass. 

“Yes,” Lago said without censure. “But not nearly as busy as they could have been, thanks in part to your Jedi’s presence. We here on Naboo know the value to recognizing when gratitude is required” He smiled, wan. “It’s even a bit of an art form, here in the capital. And we are very thankful to the Jedi for their aid, so I would be surprised if there is some ceremony or other, now that you’re here.”

Mace nodded, accepting the thanks without comment, acknowledging the forewarning, and pushing his discomfiture aside. Jedi were supposed to serve without thoughts of thanks, and to be offered it anyway sat ill with many, (and those for whom it did not were often closely watched). As councilor, Mace was often forced to receive the thanks of a person or peoples on the behalf of another Jedi. It was never easy, but he had grown used to it, in the end. 

“How are they?” Mace asked, instead. The last report he had read had been rather grim--Qui-Gon Jinn, ran through the chest with a plasma blade, a lightsaber blade, and Obi-Wan Kenobi, bruised and battered and in some sort of psychic shock. It had been difficult to even reach them, as Obi-Wan had lashed out at any who had come too close, like a wounded animal. They had both been alive when they had been reached at last, but the writer of the report had felt it best to warn that they might not stay that way. 

Lago held out his hand to pause Mace, not touching but close, as a small team of healers rushed by with a hover-stretcher. The patient was small, small enough to be a child, and Mace watched the eddies of the Force swim around them as they went by. The girl would live, but her road would be difficult. 

Once they were gone, Lago gestured them forward once more. “The younger, Padawan Kenobi, has recovered well enough. He had suffered some extensive bruising and fatigue, aside from his ankle, which had been strained to near the point of cracking. But the young do heal better than most, and he is able to be up and moving in small doses already. He is still prone to long periods of fugue-like states, but he has woken and is aware of who and where is is and why, and is more awake than not these days.” 

Knowing Padawan Kenobi, as Mace did from his tumultuous friendship with Qui-Gon Jinn, Mace wouldn’t be at all surprised if Kenobi was hurrying his healing along through focused Meditation, and if some of his fugue states were not, actually, fugue states at all. It was a skill that Mace knew Kenobi had long since grown proficient, running around the Galaxy with his master as they did. After recent events, Mace might suggest that Kenobi apply for secondary training with the Temple healers. 

“And the other?” Mace asked. “Master Jinn?” 

Lago sighed. “His case is much trickier. He was stable when we got to him, his vitals strong, but he was stabbed clear through his midsection. It was only luck that spared him worse fate: the blade missed his lungs, kidneys, and large intestine. His stomach was punctured, but sealed itself quickly enough, and the cauterization around the wound kept him from bleeding out too quickly. Honestly, the greater danger to him may have been shock.” He slowed to a stop and Mace stopped as well, turning to face him. “When we found them, Padawan Kenobi was curled around Master Jinn. I’m not sure what he did, but the wound was already well on it’s way to being healed when we arrived. I _am_ sure that Padawan Kenobi saved his master’s life.” 

Something in the Force shifted, a crack forming--no, a splintering in the timeline. Things could have gone very differently here, and Mace wasn’t sure if they were not now on the worse path. “I would not doubt that to be true,” he said, distantly. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Kenobi had done something he shouldn’t have been able to, nor the first time his action had been directly related to a shatterpoint. 

Nodding at the room behind him, Largo said, “This is them. I’ll leave you here. Please call a nurse if you wish to leave. They’ll make sure you don’t get turned around. It’s a bit of a maze.” 

Mace drew himself from his thoughts with some force, and bowed. “I thank you again, Healer Lago,” he said, and the Healer nodded once more, before turning and walking quickly off down the hall. Mace watched him leave, and then palmed the controls for the door before him.

* * *

1.

_The shields closed with a snap hiss, and Obi-Wan skidded to a halt just short of the red. He snarled, but saw Qui-Gon stop ahead of him, the Sith on the far side of another shield. For the moment, they could all breathe._

_(Chest heaving, throat burning, lungs of fire)_

_Qui-Gon sank slowly to his knees, as if he was in the Temple Gardens and not in the middle of a dual with a creature of distant nightmare, long since thought purged from the Galaxy. No, Qui-Gon closed his eyes, and Obi-Wan felt the calm of his meditation settled around the edges of his own mind, and he saw—_

_He saw—_

_(The years unfolded ahead of him, swelling out like a blanket on the breeze. Qui-Gon’s life gone, a flash in the pan, and his killer, the Sith ahead of them, falling to his death at Obi-Wan’s hands. He saw his braid cut, Anakin taking his place at his side as he grew taller and taller and taller. The galaxy darkened around them, behind lights that shone ever brighter, like lamps lit in futility against a winter night._

_He saw a dusty arena, Jedi fighting and falling, the Dark Side thick around them. He saw the ranks of helmeted men, the rise of an Army that signaled the fall of a Republic. He saw himself leading troops against a never ending tide._

_He saw the darkness rise, and—)_

_Obi-Wan gasped as the shields began to lower. He heard the clash of blades and he cried out, unthinking— “Wait!”_

_And when he could see the world in front of him as it was again in this present moment, Qui-Gon was still in the hall, refusing to follow the Sith out into the chamber beyond. The Sith was clearly frustrated, his strikes showing just as much of it as his anger, but then the shields before Obi-Wan fell, and he was running to his master’s side._

_They would face this Sith together._

* * *

5.

Anakin decided that he liked Naboo.

He’d never seen so much green in his life! And so much water—enough for the Gungans to have a _secret city_ inside!

(There were tales on Tatooine, secret stories that were told on special nights when the slaves would gather together to drum and sing and dance—of secret waters that flowed deep below the deserts. Vast seas that were waiting for the one who would free the slaves and bring the rains. Ani always loved those stories best, as the world around the teller would _sing_ ).

And Padme—

Well. _Queen Amidala_ , he guessed. She was real nice, still. He didn’t see her as much as he wanted, but at least once a day she took time to see how he was doing, either dressed in makeup and those huge dresses, or barefaced in Padme’s simpler clothes. 

He didn’t understand why she was two different people, except that sometimes he felt like two different people. Who he was with Watto was not who he was with his mother (no slave was the same self with their master), but Padme wasn’t owned by anybody. She seemed sad when he asked, however, so he didn’t ask again. 

He didn’t want to make Padme sad. 

So, “I’m alright,” he said when she asked, and every time he was. Alright. He had a _whole room_ to himself in the suite that he would have shared with Master Qui-Gon and Padawan Kenobi, and Sabé had showed him how to get food when he was hungry. The food was a lot different than he was used to, and kinda bland and plant-y, with more meat than he’d ever seen on his plate. Nobody seemed to know the spices he was used to, but _fruit!_ Anakin had never seen such fruit, full and sweet, with thin skins that were ready to pop they were so full of juice, and everything smelled so good!

He wished his mom could be here. She would _love_ the fruit. And the flowers. 

But she was still on Tatooine, and Master Qui-Gon and Padawan Obi-Wan were still in the medcenter and nobody seemed to know what to do with him. 

So Ani took a knife and the bones he had carefully saved and cleaned from his dinner the night before and sat on the balcony overlooking the city. He whispered the prayers he had learned from his mother, carved the symbols he had learned from the Grandmother of the Quarters, and prayed that they would get better soon and hoped that there were gods in Naboo’s moon that would listen to a little boy from far away.

* * *

2.

_Obi-Wan’s relief was short lived. The Sith wasn’t giving any ground. Still, they were only evenly matched, but that made no sense. If Obi-Wan was able to finish him alone, as in his vision, then surely they would be able to defeat him together. ___

_What was missing?_

_Obi-Wan struck to distract from Qui-Gon’s blow, but it wasn’t enough. The Sith blocked, sending Obi-Wan flying back with a well-placed Force push, and spun. In one horrifying second that stretched into countless minutes, the Sith ran the end of his blade back though Qui-Gon’s middle._

_Qui-Gon stopped, lightsaber falling from his hands, as Obi-Wan landed on his feet._

_“No!” Obi-Wan cried. Why send him the vision if Qui-Gon would fall anyway—if Obi-Wan could do nothing to change the events of the future. For a moment, Obi-Wan wished that this, too, was yet another vision, and that he would blink and find himself in the hallway once more. He would gladly repeat this horrible moment again and again if it meant that he would get another chance to_ stop it. 

_But reality stayed stubbornly the same, and Obi-Wan felt that choking grief, the rage of loss, and felt something deep and primal roil within him._

”Oh,” _he thought._ ”I see.”

_And when the Sith snarled, taunting, and Obi-Wan ran for him, raging, he saw the beginnings of fear in those yellow eyes. Cold burning in his veins, the world seemed to slow, and when the opening came, Obi-Wan was there to take advantage._

_The Sith--Maul, he realized he knew from his vision, fell back into the pit, his head separated from his body._

_“Come back from that,” Obi-Wan spat, and turned at last towards his master._

* * *

8\. 

Awareness came slowly, through a haze of drugs that Qui-Gon barely recognized from his Padawan days, when he had landed in an actual gundark nest. He had discovered, quite contrary to what his créche mates had believed, that he could not, actually, befriend a gundark. He still bore scars from that encounter, and the feeling of heavy painkillers after intense Force Healing was a unique experience. 

Qui-Gon was not surprised, therefore, when he was first made aware of the constant, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor, and the soft whisper of footsteps on the other side of a closed door. Neither was he surprised by the shimmering halo of rainbow colors that danced around the lights when he finally blinked his eyes open. 

Hesitant to close his eyes, lest he fall under once more, Qui-Gon breathed deeply and tried to center himself in the Force. It slipped through his fingers like he was trying to grasp heavy fog, but it was enough to alert the other presence in the room that he was awake. 

“Master,” Obi-Wan said, appearing at his side like an apparition, suddenly and far too pale, and Qui-Gon felt the skin pulling in his face when he smiled. 

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, or, he tried to. His voice was thin, cracked, and his words were barely a whisper. 

“Shh,” Obi-Wan said. “Easy.” A straw appeared at his lips, and Qui-Gon sipped gratefully. “It’s been nearly a Tenday. You’ve had little Ani worried.” Obi-Wan’s voice was light, but it was forced cheer. Not just Ani, then. Clearly, however, Obi-Wan didn’t want to talk about himself if he was deflecting, and Qui-Gon was too tired to fight it yet. 

Following Obi-Wan’s lead, Qui-Gon asked, “How is he?” Qui-Gon asked. Reaching out his hand to touch Obi-Wan’s cheek, his darling, dear Obi-Wan—

Obi-Wan turned away, leaning back to place the cup of water on a small side-table, and Qui-Gon’s fingers dangled in the open air, in shock. 

“Your braid...”

The Padawan braid that Obi-Wan had worn proudly for years was gone. In its place was a short stump of hair. 

Obi-Wan paused, and then spoke without turning back. “The Council decided that the events of the past few days would stand for my trials; I have killed a Sith, something not done for nearly a thousand years, and I kept you alive until help could reach us.” 

Qui-Gon lowered his hand a last, touching the healing wound on his chest. His fingers grazed smooth scar tissue, tender and aching. “You did more than that, I think.” 

Obi-Wan turned back, and Qui-Gon’s breath caught at the depth of emotion that flashed darkly in his eyes before the calm mask fell once more. 

“So they knighted you,” Qui-Gon said. _Without me._ he did not say. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. _Without you._ He stood. “You’ll be pleased. They’ve approved Anakin as your new Padawan. He’s been by every day, and I’ve been instructing him the things he has missed, not being raised in the Temple. He’s a fast learner; by the time you’re on your feet, he should have mastered seated meditation as well as I had at that age.” 

Qui-Gon tried to smile, though he knew it was weak—his heart hurt far too much, in too many ways. “By which you mean not well at all?” he teased, tentative, and was relieved when Obi-Wan took pity on him to grin, dimples flashing and catching Qui-Gon’s breath. 

“Exactly.” 

It would have been a relief, if Qui-Gon didn’t know that smile, if he hadn’t seen it aimed towards senators and politicians who Obi-Wan criticized fervently later, in private. Come to think of it, Obi-Wan hadn’t smiled once, not truly, since Qui-Gon had woken. 

Small gods, how bady had Qui-Gon hurt things without realizing? How could he fix this?

Qui-Gon licked his lips. “You’ll be a good master yourself, when you get a Padawan of your own.” When Obi-Wan didn’t move, he pushed on, praying that he was saying the right thing, but not sure of it at all. “You’re already an exceptional knight—don’t look at me like that, you have been working at knight level for some years.” Obi-Wan’s flat look didn’t ease, and Qui-Gon pressed his lips together, and swallowed his pride. “I am sorry, Obi-Wan, that I have done you yet another disservice by not telling you sooner. You should have been knighted with all the proper pomp and ceremony that you deserve.” 

“I must disagree, Master,” Obi-Wan said, quietly. “I was not ready.” 

Qui-Gon frowned. Obi-Wan had professed his readiness himself—but no, that was simply Obi-Wan, stepping in to support his Master in all things, as he had always done. He could see that, now. It was Qui-Gon who was not ready for Obi-Wan to leave—and his own failing that put them in this position. 

“You were ready two years ago,” Qui-Gon said, quietly. “You have ever impressed me with your skill and dedication, your compassion and your conviction, and I am proud to see you become the knight I knew you could be.” 

Obi-Wan finally turned back, smiling, wetly. “You’ll be sure to _tell_ Anakin that, won’t you? Don’t make him wait, as I did.” 

It was not a blow intended to hurt, but it was truth that hurt all the same. Qui-Gon wanted to reach out, but Obi-Wan was sitting so far away. Already, Qui-Gon could see: this wasn’t his headstrong and righteous Padawan, but a strong and ready knight, continuing on in the face of his own wounds.

And Qui-Gon had missed it. 

He ached, deep in his chest, and it didn’t take him long to recognize the emotion, the deep seated affection that was more. A dreaded _attachment_. 

Love. 

Oh, if only his master could see him now. Yan Dooku would never let him live this down—and Yoda would excommunicate him, for what he thought next. 

Because Dooku was not here, nor Yoda, only Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan—and Qui-Gon swore that if Obi-Wan ever graced him with a second chance, he would not miss it twice. 

“I won’t,” he said.

* * *

3\. 

_“No, No, No!” Obi-Wan fell to his knees. “Master..._

_Already, Qui-Gon had trouble tracking, his usually bright blue eyes shadowed and cloudy. “Obi-Wan...Anakin...” he swallowed. “Train—”_

_“Train him yourself!” Obi-Wan snapped, though he was gentle as he pulled Qui-Gon’s head into his lap, shaking hands brushing long strands back from his face. “You’re not dying here. Not like this.”_

_Qui-Gon finally seemed to focus on him, raising his hand to run the back of his fingers against Obi-Wan’s cheek. Obi-Wan’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into the touch, squeezing shut in vain to keep the tears from falling. “I can’t—” he whispered. “I’ve seen the darkness coming, you can’t leave me...”_

_Between them, Obi-Wan’s fingers found the charred and bloody wound and, pressing his palm there, his hand began to glow._

* * *

7.

Qui-Gon Jinn had been a thorn in Mace’s side since Mace had joined the council, _especially_ when Mace fundamentally agreed with Qui-Gon’s antics, and wished they could be officially sanctioned. But wishes alone were not enough to determine policy, and it was Mace that had to answer for the weight of the Jedi Order being thrown without approval. Often, Mace wished the other Master would simply slow down, and let Mace’s paperwork headache recede. 

Never, would Mace have wished this, and it was no easing of pain to see Qui-Gon so still, or his Padawan so forlorn, or the young boy with such potential for light and darkness look so fearful or lost. When Mace entered Qui-Gon’s room, he saw all three. 

Young Anakin saw him first, though Mace was sure Obi-Wan noticed him entering the room, and dropped the—feather? 

They had been playing pushfeather?

It was so innocuous that Mace faltered, if only for a moment. 

Looking up from the feather, Mace saw Anakin standing stiffly, trying desperately to hide the fear on his face. Obi-Wan, however, simply bent over and picked the feather up off the floor, placing it on a nearby table, and turned to face Mace with a bow. Anakin copied it—incorrectly, but not actually that far off—and Obi-Wan put his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. The boy calmed quickly, and watched in surprise when Mace returned the bow. 

“Master Windu,” Obi-Wan said, a picture of steadfast calm, for all that he was still dressed in patients pale pajamas. “We didn’t expect you for some days.” 

“We were lucky,” Mace said, gesturing for them to sit. “There was an express transport heading this way. Relief supplies. Master Yoda and I made good time.” 

Now, even Obi-Wan looked a bit surprised, and it was enough for Mace to see the cracks, to see just how tired and run down the young man before him really was. “I wasn’t aware that Master Yoda was coming.” True, the Grandmaster of the order didn’t leave the Temple very often, but it wasn’t actually unheard of. 

“He felt it best, considering the circumstances.” _As if the reemergence of the Sith wasn’t enough._ Mace looked over at Qui-Gon’s still form, “Yoda was always fond of the bastard.” 

Mace didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but that way he did, and he looked at Anakin in surprise when the young boy covered his mouth with both hands to stifle giggles. The temple children his age would never have laughed at such a joke--well, not in front of a Council member, anyway. 

Perhaps young Skywalker was the breath of fresh air they needed. It was clear his time with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had done him good; when Mace looked at him he saw less fractures than before, and less of them were stained with darkness. 

Yes, Skywalker could do great things as part of the Order.

And, well, no time like the present.

“Anakin Skywalker,” Mace said, and Anakin snapped to attention. “It is the decision of the Jedi Council that you will be trained in the ways of the Jedi, if that is your wish.” Mace dropped to one knee, and watched as Anakin’s mouth dropped open as well. It was yet another reminder that Anakin’s life had been very different from those at the Temple. Mace would keep an eye on this one, and make sure that Qui-Gon noticed as well. 

How could they ever think such a boy would be a danger to them? Had they truly forgotten so much of the greater world, as Qui-Gon had often campaigned? 

“It is a hard road, and a difficult life—not one to be undertaken lightly. It must be your decision. Do you wish to take our oaths, and train and live as a Jedi of our Order?” 

Anakin liked his lips, looked at Obi-Wan, and then nodded furiously. “I do! I mean, it is!” 

Mace smiled, and held out his hand to Anakin. Anakin blinked, and gripped Mace’s forearm in a smuggler’s grip. It was surprisingly strong, and Mace gripped back, acknowledging the grip, before pulling his hand back and showing Anakin the proper hold for the Core. Anakin grasped it quickly, and his smile, his presence in the Force, was blinding-bright. 

“Welcome to the Jedi, Initiate Skywalker,” Mace said. “When you are ready for your training, Qui-Gon Jinn has spoken his interest in being your master. If, for whatever reason, he is not to be your master, I would happily take you on as my Padawan.” 

Mace could tell his words surprised Anakin and Obi-Wan both. Hells, they surprised _Mace,_ but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret those words. He would, in fact be happy to teach Anakin Skywalker. 

But that was not his decision to make. 

“As for you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Mace said, standing, and Obi-Wan met him with remarkable composure. “It is also the decision of this Council to confer to you the rank of Jedi Knight.” Mace paused, and smiled. “Congratulations, Knight Kenobi.” 

Obi-Wan’s mouth moved like a fish, and Mace was pleased to crack the already legendary composure of the young man before him for a much happier reason. “But what about my trials?” 

Mace raised an eyebrow. “These past two weeks have challenged your courage, your conviction, and your endurance. You have not only faced a Sith and lived, but defeated the Sith in single combat. You have faced the dark, and the turmoil of your own emotions, and remained firmly in the light. Your strength in the Force, and your ability to draw on it as your ally has carried you through the day. You have proven yourself a fully capable Knight.” Mace looked at Qui-Gon, still on the bed. 

“The only question is a matter of ceremony. We can wait for your master to wake, or I can stand in his place.” 

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon as well, and Mace forced himself to be still as Obi-Wan thought. He expected Obi-Wan to wait, their bond was strong, after all, but the offer still had to be—

“Master Windu, I wish for you to cut my braid.” 

Mace blinked. _Qui-Gon Jinn, what did you do?_

“Very well,” he said, hiding his surprise as best he could. Folding his arms, he tucked his hands into his sleeves, mind already racing to arrange what was needed. “Tonight at—”

“Now, please,” Obi-Wan interrupted, and looked at him at last. Mace stared back. “Please.” 

It was not—well, to call it “unheard of” would be technically correct, but a field knighting, such as Obi-Wan was asking for, had not been performed in Mace’s lifetime. There was simply no need while the Jedi were at peace. 

Still, it could be done, and it if was what Obi-Wan wished...well, it certainly fell in line with the rest of the unorthodox nature of Obi-Wan’s training. But that he didn’t want to wait...

 _Qui-Gon, you utter fool!_ Slowly, Mace nodded. “Very well. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan Learner. Please step forward.” 

Obi-Wan was barefoot, dressed in medical pajamas underneath his Jedi robes, and there were dark bruises under his eyes, but his gaze was clear and his presence was strong as he took his place before Mace. Slowly, letting the Force fill his voice, Mace spoke the words of Ceremony. 

“We are all Jedi. The Force speaks through us. Through our actions, the Force proclaims itself and what is real. Today we are here to acknowledge what the Force has proclaimed." A Jedi’s knighting was typically a several day affair, beginning with their first trial, but in the end, only two things mattered, after the trials were passed. 

First, the braid must be cut. Pulling a small knife from his belt, Mace gestured for Obi-Wan to kneel. Obi-Wan went to his knee, and tilted his head. Mace took the braid in his hand, cradling it gently, and with a swift motion, severed the braid behind Obi-Wan’s eat. Holding the braid, Mace tucked the knife away. 

Second, and last, the words. "By the right of the Council, by the will of the Force, I dub thee Jedi, Knight of the Republic." Mace placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Rise, Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, of the Jedi Order.” 

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and stood. He looked no less bruised, but there was a resolve in his spine that Mace was pleased to see. 

“Congratulations to you, as well,” Mace said, letting the echo of power leave his voice and leaving behind merely himself. “Here. This belongs to you to, now. Do with it what you will.” He held out Obi-Wan’s braid, and after a moment, Obi-Wan took it, wrapping it around his fingers and tucking it loosely into his pocket. 

“Thank you, Master Windu.” 

“Mace,” he said, gently, and Obi-Wan nodded. “I will inform Master Yoda of your decision, and update the Council rolls. Rest now, Obi-Wan. There will be much to do, and little time for it going forth.” 

Obi-Wan bowed, recognizing the dismissal for what it was, and Anakin mirrored the motion. Mace was sure Anakin did not understand the full implications of what he had just witnessed, but he would eat his robes if Anakin didn’t at least have some inkling. 

Mace turned to leave, looking back at them once he had reached the door. “May the Force be With you.”

* * *

4\. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how long he sat there, his hand pressed to Qui-Gon’s chest, but when the medics finally reached them, breaching all of Obi-Wan’s desperate defenses, his hands and feet were cold and he was stiff and aching.

He protested when the medics insisted that he, too, be carried out on a stretcher. He was fine, he tried to tell them. Qui-Gon was the one that nearly died, not him—but the medic simply guided him onto the stretcher and Obi-Wan let himself be carried off. He was tucked under a warm blanket, hooked to a bag of fluids, and had no memory of their arrival to the medcenter. 

They put them in the same room. It was kind of them, though Obi-Wan was a bit surprised that they didn’t wake in a dormitory. Theed must be overrun with wounded—and yet, Obi-Wan was thankful for the privacy. It meant that, when he woke in a panic, no one was there to see, nor see the way he calmed drastically when he saw Qui-Gon lying abed, pink and hale and breathing.

Obi-Wan pushed himself up on shaking arms and tried to stand, leaning heavily against the bed when his knees threatened to give way. His left ankle throbbed dully. The painkillers must be wearing off, but he made his way to Qui-Gon’s side, nonetheless.

He had to see—he had to—

There was no change in awareness from Qui-Gon, and he slept on as Obi-Wan gently parted the folds of his robe across his chest.

The wound was ugly, gnarled red scar tissue in an imperfect circle. It was far more healed than Obi-Wan had suspected it to be, (it would have to be for there to be no bandage), and he wondered if, perhaps, he hadn’t spent some weeks asleep himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he had lost days to healing.

With shaking fingers he reached out to touch the scar—it was warm, hard and smooth, and Obi-Wan snatched his hand back, running his thumb quickly over his fingertips. 

He had come so close. 

Obi-Wan gripped his fingers in his other hand, watching the steady rise and fall of Qui-Gon’s chest. He breathed. His heart beat. The hole in his chest had healed. His presence in Obi-Wan’s mind was strong, if muted by sleep. He would live. 

He would _live._

So why did Obi-Wan’s heart still ache?

 _”Don’t be simple, Obi-Wan,”_ he thought fiercely to himself. _”You know exactly why it aches.”_

Obi-Wan had come far too close to losing him. 

He reached out again, mirroring Qui-Gon however many hours before, and running the back of his fingers down Qui-Gon’s cheek. It was warm, soft and not waxy. Not waxy, and the bristle of Qui-Gon’s whiskers whispered over his skin. 

“Master, I have failed,” Obi-Wan whispered. “I was challenged, and I could not let you go. What do I do?” He sighed, feeling disgusted at himself, though even that emotion was lackluster. “And I still need you to wake up and tell me what to do.” He bit his lip. “How do I let you go?” 

The first tear signaled the coming of many, and Obi-Wan pressed this hand to his mouth to muffle his wracking sobs

Later, when his tears stopped flowing, he dried his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. Sniffing, he watched his master, and as Obi-Wan eased, his breathing slowed to match Qui-Gon’s. Calm, he knew what he had to do. 

Obi-Wan sat for a long time.


End file.
